


ten feet tall

by santiagone



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Bets & Wagers, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Romance, competitiveness!! all the good stuff!!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-07-24 09:06:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16171976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/santiagone/pseuds/santiagone
Summary: When Jake and Amy make a bet to see who can out-romance each other, the lines between friendship and relationship get a little blurred.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i promised myself i'd take a break from writing  
> and yet  
> here i am
> 
> and let me tell you, b99 characters are so haRD to get in character!! but i tried my best. title from birdy's wings.

The weirdest thing is, it starts with a diamond thief. Or at least, it starts with the sweet, _sweet_ interrogation of a guy Amy’s been tracking down for three months now; a moment so satisfying that not even Jake’s endless spiel of James Bond and Charlie’s Angels references can dampen her spirits. Nothing can dampen her spirits, nothing at all. Holt could give her his disapproving decibel and she'd still be over the moon, overjoyed—

“I'm not confessing to anything,” says the diamond thief, voice hard. “I didn't do it.”

Amy's smile wipes off her face.

Okay, okay, _fine_ , she has an uncooperative perp. But it's not like she's never had those before. Amy Santiago can play the bad cop like a boss; she can leave serial killers quaking in their boots. All she has to do is let “John Doe” (it's _literally_ in the name, he's obviously the right guy!) know what's up, and what's about to go down if he doesn't cooperate.

“Rosa!” pleads Amy, three hours later, after she's burned through thirty-four different techniques and he hasn't broke a sweat. “Will you come scare my perp for me?”

Rosa considers it for all of two seconds, glancing down at her paperwork and then back at Amy. “Sure. Give me a minute, I left my good axe in the car.”

“On second thought, you look really busy, I don't want to drag you away from your work,” Amy says hastily. Rosa shrugs, just as a new (annoying) figure slides up beside her, grinning.

“Trouble with interrogation? I'm great at that,” says Jake, brandishing the badge around his neck like she's somehow forgotten he's a cop.

“Didn’t you once break down crying when you couldn't get the confession?” says Rosa, staring at Jake dryly over her file.

Jake’s eyes go a little bit wide when he laughs. “Yes, _very_ funny, Rosa— _I thought we promised never to speak of that!_ ”

“Whatever, man.” Rosa shrugs, and Amy has never loved her more than in this moment, embarrassing the hell out of Peralta. Jake mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously close to _betrayal_ and Amy flashes him a Santiago-specialty condescending smile.

“Sorry Jake, but I have to go back to interrogating my perp. You know. The diamond thief?”

“Ugh, you _know_ that's my dream case,” says Jake with a small scowl. “Come on, Amy, let me jump on the case with you. I can break the perp—I’m great at breaking perps! Annoying people into confession is a talent, you know.”

“Jake’s right,” says a new voice enthusiastically. “He's the best at interrogation. But of course, Jake’s the best at everything.”

“Great,” says Amy, “now Charles is here.”

“We’re partners in life, Amy,” says Charles with a small scoff, “His business is my business. We’re gonna get real _busy_.”

“Boyle, _no_ ,” says Jake, looking a little horrified. “But thank you for supporting me, I really appreciate it. Point is, I can get your perp to talk, as long as you put me on the case with you.”

“Not gonna happen,” Amy says, giving him a smug smile, and feeling a very large amount of satisfaction as she walks away. (Said satisfaction is, however, slightly diminished by a very uncooperative perp. Stupid criminals and their reluctance to talk.)

 

.

.

.

 

That night at Shaw’s, celebrating Terry and Rosa’s closed case, Amy laments about her stupid diamond thief over a bottle of beer. How is it that she gets assigned what could be the biggest bust of her career to date, and it's all gonna go away because she's not Rosa enough? (Read: _scary_ enough.)

“What’s up, Ames? Did the pen store run out of stock again?” Jake asks, cheerfully sliding into the stool next to her.

“I know you're kidding but the thought of that is really upsetting to me right now,” Amy warns, a little bit confused when Jake’s smile turns a little fonder in the corners.

“Couldn't crack the diamond thief, huh?”

“I’m getting there,” she says defensively. “He's five seconds away from confessing. Earlier, he told me the name of his dog without any prompting. It's Ralph.”

“Terrible name for a dog,” Jake mutters. “Come on, Ames, just let me in there for two seconds. I bet I can get him to confess. Peralta guarantee!”

“You _bet_ , do you?” Amy repeats, eyes narrowing a little in thought. _Bet_. The magic word. Something weird seemed to happen around her and Jake whenever that word came up. Something kind of unexplainable. “Let's put that to action.”

“Fine,” says Jake, voice lowering into faux grit. She knows it for what it really is: competitiveness. “Hit me with your best shot.”

“I bet,” she starts conspiratorially, eyes sweeping around the room, “that you can't change the song from Beyonce to Taylor Swift without Gina noticing.”

Jake’s expression morphs into something that is, unfortunately, very familiar to Amy: triumph. “Jokes on you, I’ve been switching songs under Gina’s nose since she was old enough to dance.”

Amy makes a great show of rolling her eyes. But true to his word, his execution of the bet goes down without a hitch—and Amy has to admit (begrudgingly) that Jake’s use of Terry’s abs as a distraction _is_ artful, if not a bit of a cop out.

“Okay,” Amy concedes when he finally swaggers his way back, although the words hurt a little. “You win.” _Ouch_. Like a punch to the gut. “But you're still not interrogating my perp.”

“Aw, come on,” Jake protests, with a small pout. “Okay, what if we raise the stakes? I bet that I can get the bartender’s phone number before you can.”

Amy spares the bartender a quick look. It's Timmy, tonight. Timmy likes Amy, he gave her an extra olive once, and he wasn't here when she broke the entire bar that one time, which means in his eyes, she's still a credible customer.

“Deal,” she says, pulling the elastic out of her hair and undoing one extra shirt button. Jake starts spluttering into his drink all of a sudden, and she frowns at him. “You okay? Pretzel go down the wrong way?”

“Something like that,” says Jake through his coughs, looking a little red in the face. “It doesn't matter. Time to seduce a bartender!”

Which is how they end up sprawled at the bar, way too many drinks in, trying (and failing) to get the bartender's attention. Amy tries every trick in the book, Jake tries everything outside of it, but every time Amy gets to the verge of giving up, Jake pulls a challenging face at her from behind Timmy’s back, and she suddenly finds the strength to try again.

“Timmy,” she says, a little loudly (at this point she's forgotten what stage of Drunk Amy she's reached). “Did you know that I'm currently in the middle of interrogating a diamond thief?”

“Diamond, huh?” says Timmy the bartender with a smile. “Pretty cool.”

“But not as cool as solving a murder. Did you know I had a triple homicide last month?” Jake interjects. She scowls at him. Behind the bar, Timmy frowns.

“Are you saying… homicides are cool?”

“Um.” Jake's features go blank, and Amy has a wild urge to laugh. “No? You know, I'm just—I need to—bathroom!”

Jake pushes away, and Timmy sets down a glass and leans closer across the bench.

“So now that he's gone…” says Timmy.

 _This is it,_ Amy thinks gleefully. She is going to lord this over Jake’s head for the rest of time. She beat Jake Peralta at flirting! Amy Santiago has _game_ (that's right, Gina).

“I was wondering,” says Bartender Timmy, and Amy’s breath hitches, “whether you could put in a good word for me with your friend? Maybe get me a phone number?”

“My friend,” echoes Amy, realising that she's lost the bet for one, heart wrenching, infuriating moment.

“Yeah,” Timmy says. “You know. Curly hair. Leather jacket. Once came in with an axe.”

Amy opens her mouth. Then, she closes it. “Wait. You're into Rosa?”

“Uh—”

“He's into _Rosa_?” Jake exclaims, suddenly and miraculously back from the bathroom. “Aw, come on. I thought we had a thing going here, Timmy! How could you?”

“Um,” says Timmy eloquently, searching Amy’s face for help. She shakes her head instead.

“I feel betrayed, Timmy, _betrayed_.”

“How do you feel knowing you broke two hearts tonight?” Jake says melodramatically, holding his arm out to her. “Come on, Ames, lets get out of here.”

“Bye Timmy,” Amy says, accepting Jake's hand and stumbling from her seat. The room is starting to spin, which is… not great. Jake puts his arm around her shoulder as they walk out, and she frowns. “I can't believe he wasn't into us. What's wrong with us?”

“Nothing,” says Jake, whose voice is warm and very close to her ear. “We’re amazing.”

“Guess you can't explain attraction,” Amy says, and Jake nods.

“You're right. Like, I can't believe you went out with _Teddy Wells_. He's so boring! I bumped into him once outside the precinct and we talked about paper clips for twenty minutes. Twenty minutes, Ames!”

“Hey,” says Amy defensively. “I got him those paperclips! They came in eight different shades of cream and they were extra - no, it doesn't matter,” she says quickly, catching sight of his expression. “Teddy was sweet.”

“The most romantic thing he ever did was read you a poem,” Jake protests. “Over the phone. At work. And I'm _pretty_ sure the poem was about native birdlife.”

“Like _you're_ the king of romance,” Amy says indignantly. “What did you ever do for Sophia? Throw rocks at her window and shout _Die Hard_ lines up at her balcony?”

Jake gasps. “How dare you insult the romantic integrity of _Die Hard_. John McClane was a dedicated husband.” They’ve stopped walking now and are standing nose to nose. Well, nose to lip. Thanks, height difference. She can smell his breath, gross in a good way; beer and peppermint.

“I'm the king of romance,” continues Jake. His eyes are shining, which is a little infuriating.

“Oh, really? Prove it.” Amy’s gaze wanders back to Shaw’s, where they'd left poor, bewildered Timmy. “We’re still tied on bets, right? Let's settle the score. One month. Nothing is off limits. Whoever out-romances the other wins.”

“Wins what?” asks Jake.

She pauses. “To be determined,” she decides, letting the words have weight on her tongue. There's a brief, silent moment. Then a slow smile begins to take over Jake’s stupid face.

“You’re on,” he says, extending his hand. Amy smiles back, and then she shakes it.

“May the most romantic win.”


	2. motivations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello old friends. it's been... a while. oops. but as a condolence prize, this chapter is twice as long as the first?

The thing is, Amy fully expects their bet to be forgotten about. Swept away with that alcohol-induced wind, lost in the grand scheme of larceny cases and movie quotes and whatever else goes on in Jake Peralta's mind.   
  
But when Amy shows up to work, the promise is sitting there on her desk, plain as day, for all eyes to see (and in Gina's case, snoop). A bouquet of flowers.   
  
The arrangement is a mess. Happy yellows next to vivid reds, peaceful whites tucked against a mix of orange and purple. Jake obviously picked it out himself, and clearly rejected whatever advice some poor florist might have given him.   
  
"Dope flowers," says Rosa, who has somehow materialised at Amy's desk. At least she's blunt enough to be upfront about it - Terry keeps sneaking peeks at the bouquet over the corner of his computer, Gina's already made eight remarks about the sad realities of Amy's love life, and Charles is practically vibrating with curiosity.   
  
"Thank you, Rosa," Amy says, somewhat proudly. (Hey, she's allowed to be a little proud. Fake suitor, but these are very real, possibly expensive flowers. God, florists in New York. How much did Jake spend?)   
  
"Who are they from?" Terry interjects from his desk, apparently having given up on the pretense of not listening.

“Let me guess,” says Gina, already looking thrilled at this new opportunity to dissect Amy's social life. “It's from the company who makes your pant suits, thanking you for saving them from a life of bankruptcy.”

“Very funny, Gina,” says Amy in what she thinks is perfect monotone (but is really indignant with hints of defensive). “But my personal life is none of your business.”

“Please,” Rosa says, preemptively sounding disgusted, “I was just forced to listen to Scully talk about his foot fungus for half an hour. We know everything about each other.”

“You're welcome, Rosa,” Scully interjects proudly from behind a pizza box mountain. 

“Thank you,” says Gina, grabbing the card right out of Amy's hand and inspecting it. “ _ Don't think I forgot about last night (title of your sex tape). _ Wait, is this from Jake? Ugh, are you two boning?” 

“Did somebody say Jake and Amy?  _ Boning _ ?” Charles perks up, already looking suspiciously close to passing out. “Is it finally happening? Oh my god, please tell me it's happening.”

Amy kind of wants to sink into the hole and die. Just a little. “Yes, these  _ are _ from Jake-”

“Aw, he got you flowers,” says Terry from his desk, because apparently the whole precinct is involved now. “Terry loves love.”

“-but we are  _ not _ dating. Or having sex,” says Amy, making sure to fix everyone with a stern glare, although she's fairly certain it only works on Hitchcock and Scully. 

“You're right, Detective Santiago,” says Jake, making his grand entrance into the bullpen, arms spread wide out. Amy resists the urge to roll her eyes again. Thankfully, Rosa doesn't. “There's no boning happening in this precinct. But I  _ would _ like to announce that Amy and I have started another bet.”

Charles cheers. Gina and Rosa groan. Hitchcock and Scully continue to seem very confused. But the door to Captain Holt's office opens, and he steps through.

“The walls are very thin. I heard the word boning being mentioned several times,” he says. “This is a bad idea, detectives. There are… seventeen point three ways this could go wrong. Those are not good odds, Santiago.”

Amy bites back her tiny gasp. “How dare you use my love of math to prevent this bet, sir.” But already, she's feeling some kind of trepidation. If Holt thinks this is a bad idea…

“Ugh, now you've made her face go frowny. That's her  _ maybe-this-isn't-a-good-idea _ face. That's the  _ worst _ kind of Amy, sir,” says Jake, a little desperately. His face smooths out, just a little, which Amy recognises as his  _ charming _ face. (And let the record show that his charm has never worked on her. Not even once!) “Sir, this is consensual, it's fun, and it's boosting self esteem and confidence. Team building! You love that crap. Our jobs won't be affected at all, and we can handle it. We're both adults.”

“Yes,” Holt agrees. “ _ Childish _ adults.”

“Come on, Captain, don't you want to see how this all goes up in flames?” Gina drawls - who is, as always, helping in her own way. “I know I do.”

“Fine,” says Holt after a few long moments. Any releases the breath she hadn't realised she was holding and suddenly feels a bit light-headed. “I will allow this to carry on, mostly because I fear Peralta would continue to do so behind my back anyway.”

“Wise choice, sir,” says Jake, nodding sagely.

“But the moment I suspect this is affecting your jobs, it's over,” says Holt. 

“Completely,” says Amy. “One hundred percent. Of course.”

Jake grins at her from across the bullpen. “So now that we officially have the Captain's blessing… Charles, would you do the honours?”

“Already one step ahead of you, Jakey,” says Charles, wheeling in the whiteboard from the briefing room. Written in Jake's sprawling handwriting reads  _ Jake: 1. Amy: 0 _ . With a bunch of love hearts that could only be from Charles.

“You win this time,” she relents, eyeing her expensive flowers and trying not to worry about Jake's finances. “But  _ only  _ by sheer luck. From now on, you better watch your back. I'm about to murder your romance game.”

“I'd like to see you try,” says Jake.

In the corner, Gina starts pushing things off her desk. “What?” she says, at Terry's look. “I need to get a good angle if I want these two to be my next viral video.”

 

.

.

.

 

First things first, Amy needs a binder. And because competition means so much to her, she springs for one of her nicer ones. Glossy cover, paper with sheen, cascading tabs.

“Nerding out over your new folder?” asks Rosa, sliding across the table from her.

“It's a binder,” Amy corrects without thinking. “I mean, no, I'm cool like you.” 

“Whatever,” says Rosa. “Listen, I'm here because I want to help you win this bet.”

“You do?” Amy says, frowning at her skeptically. “You never want to help with bets. Last time I tried to ask you for help, you said they were stupid, and you'd rather just be laughing at us from the sidelines instead.”

Rosa leans forward slightly on the table, and Amy gets the distinct (and exciting) impression that they are about to have a pow-wow. 

“Yeah,” says Rosa darkly, “but that was before Jake ate my ice cream.”

Amy blinks. “Your… ice cream.” And it's not that she's surprised, but… she'd been expecting Rosa to say something more, well,  _ Rosa _ . Like axe. Or fire extinguisher.

“My Moose Tracks ice cream,” Rosa confirms. 

Amy bites her lip. Is this a joke? She's never sure if it's a joke. But with Rosa, the safest way is to just agree. Plus, it would be good to have Rosa on her side, especially since Charles has probably already plotted eight different romantic ways for Jake to wash Amy's hair. 

“Okay,” she says. “So you're in?”

Rosa grins. “I'm in. And I've got a ton of ideas.”

 

.

.

.

 

As it turns out, Rosa is… not the world's greatest romancer. 

(“For the last time, Rosa, boning in Las Vegas is  _ not _ romantic enough!”

“You  _ asked _ me for my idea of a perfect date.”) 

But it's fine, because moral support is what's important anyway, and Rosa is definitely good at that. Maybe even a little  _ too _ good, considering the amount of times Amy has to decline Rosa's offer of getting Jake a personally engraved axe. (It's not that she's  _ against _ the axe thing, it's just that the world is already dangerous enough without Peralta possessing an axe.)

“This,” says Amy several hours later, on a conveniently timed stakeout, “is it. It's cheesy, romantic, embarrassing,  _ extravagant _ . Classic Peralta. Classic win.”

Rosa swaps a burrito for Amy's file, leading through the pages with a small frown. “You did a lot of work on this.”

“ _ Yeah _ I did, baby.” Amy blinks. “Sorry.” 

“Sometimes I worry about you,” says Rosa. But she still gives Amy's three point plan the Diaz Seal Of Approval.

 

.

.

.

 

So it starts like this. Amy delivers a personal, extremely detailed love letter to Peralta's desk, and gets the sweet, sweet taste of vindication when his cheeks pinken a little as he reads it aloud (dramatic voicing and all) to the precinct.

“Amy Santiago,” says Jake, “this is  _ dirty _ .” 

And that, Amy thinks, is the reward of growing up with seven brothers. (And also the penance. But she tries not to think about that.)

“I’m surprised you know what half the words mean. Hot stuff,” she adds, for extra measure. 

“Oh, I don't, sugar muffin,” says Jake, who is apparently proud of his poor education. “But I'm good at context clues.” And then he makes a big deal about framing the letter and propping it up to display on his desk. Which is only  _ slightly _ mortifying when Captain Holt glances at it on his way out of the bullpen. 

In retaliation, Jake fills her drawers to the brim with rose petals and a barrage of perfume. When Amy opens her locker, she's assaulted by a shower of petals. She smells like Eau de Rose for three days following. Her niece bursts into a serious case of hay fever every time she comes around.

“A rose by any other name would smell as sweet,” she taunts Jake the next day. To her disappointment, Jake only gives her a blank look. In the background, Gina boos. Amy's great literary jokes are truly lost on this stupid crowd. Except, maybe, for Charles. But at this point, does his spontaneous weeping even count?

From across the bullpen, Rosa raised her eyebrows, which to anyone else would have just been a Rosa Thing. But Amy knows it really means  _ Ha! I was right to veto the dramatic reading of Shakespeare idea _ . Which is just smug. And a little rude. After all, Shakespeare is the _soul_ of romance.

Instead, Amy spends three hours at the most expensive cheap gift store she can find, debating between a stuffed bear that reads  _ Be Mine _ , and matching bracelets with their initials on it. She settles for the bear, which seems like the right choice at the time, only she didn't know that she'd have to listen to Jake animatedly talk to it for three weeks following. Although, in fairness, she should have expected it at this point. 

The precinct starts to hold voting polls after work every Friday -  _ Who Romanced Better This Week _ , with Gina cashing in on all the rewards. 

But Amy never concedes to Jake, not once, not when he buys her those fancy overpriced coffees he knows she likes, or when he leaves her a sticky note in a brand new binder that reads  _ you have my heart!!! (and my butt!!),  _ or even he changes her desktop background to a cheesy picture Terry took of them ages ago.

But she does come close one time. Ridiculously, absurdly close on a Thursday morning, when Jake comes in from his break, with all his usual pomp, and pulls a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket.

Brushing the crumbs from it, he says (grandly), “What light through yonder window breaks.” And Any is sufficiently astonished enough by the first sentence that she forgets to cringe. So astonished, in fact, that she almost misses the rest of his monologue.

“Is that…” she says, and Jake grins.

“Shakespeare. Old time romance. Have I impressed you yet, Santiago?” 

“You've embarrassed me,” Amy suggests instead, which is not entirely untrue. By this point, Charles has moved on to his second box of tissues. 

“This has reached new levels of lame,” says Rosa.

“Speak for yourself,” Gina says. Amy's not sure how she's acquired the muscle strength to be holding her phone at such angles for so long. “My followers are loving the content. All my comments are asking about when you two are going to bone.”

“Jake and I,” says Amy, enunciating very clearly and hoping she doesn't look as flustered as she feels, “are not going to bone, Gina.”

“Uh huh,” says Gina. “But can you do it sooner than later? I'm running out of clickbait titles. It's starting to look like BuzzFeed.”

Amy opens her mouth, but Jake interjects, sitting himself neatly on her desk (which she has told him many times  _ not _ to do). 

“Come on, Santiago. Admit you were flattered.”

“Okay. It was -  _ a little bit _ \- charming,” Amy relents, moving her files a safe distance away from Jake. “But you didn't romance me, which means the terms of our bet are still on.”

“Ugh,” says Jake, who is now doing that ridiculous, puppy-dog look of his. A look that Amy is, of course, immune to. Definitely. “But I practiced that speech for so  _ long _ .”  _ So long _ , in Jake Peralta's terms, probably meant just shy of thirty seconds. “There are  _ so _ many big words, Ames. Who says  _ yonder _ ? It's like his mouth just threw up a bunch of letters and people decided to call it theatre.”

“Says the guy who uses the word  _ redonkulus _ on a regular basis,” says Amy wryly.

“If it sounds like a Harry Potter spell, I'm  _ going  _ to use it in everyday life,” Jake defends. “When are you going to admit that I seduced you?”

Abruptly, Amy pushes her rolley chair away from the desk and gets up. “Seduction was never on the table, Peralta,” she says evenly. Her fingers fumble for her files. Jake catches it just as she drops one, and holds it out to her.

“Amy Santiago,” he says, a touch too seriously. He's looking her straight in the eyes. “I  _ am _ going to win.” 

Amy accepts the file. “Prove it,” she says, and feels entirely too smug (and a little shaky) on her way out.

 

.

.

.

 

“You're starting to make me think I picked the wrong side.”

Amy jumps, and just about drops the coffee pot. “Rosa! Stop intercepting me in the break room.”

“I picked the wrong side,” says Rosa, stabbing a fork viciously into a slice of pineapple. “Dammit, Santiago. I was rooting for you.”

Amy blinks. “Rosa, what-”

“You're going to lose your bet with Jake,” says Rosa. Amy's first instinct is to laugh.

“Come on, I…” She pauses as this time, a strawberry receives Rosa's wrath. Poor, undeserving strawberry. “You can't be serious. You've seen the binders, Rosa. The binders!”

“I did pick you for your binders,” Rosa admits. “Jake's a moron. But sometimes he can be a smart moron. He's been practicing that monologue for a week.”

“A week? No, he probably got the idea half an hour ago.”

Rosa shakes her head. Stabs another piece of fruit. “I saw him print it off last week. Heard him practicing on Wednesday.” 

Amy takes a moment to think about that. Jake Peralta, who burns through interests every other minute, who can't sit through one movie (Did Hard excluded) without tapping his foot or running a commentary or going to get soda, popcorn, red twizzlers. Jake Peralta, keeping at Shakespeare for a week. 

“Okay, so he's not great at Shakespeare.”

Rosa rolls her eyes. “You’ve got your binders. But Jake has heart. And motivation.”

“I have motivation!” Amy says indignantly, ready to leap to offended. “I have all the motivation. I'm made of motivation. There is nothing more I want than to beat Jake Peralta - there is nothing I want more than to win.”

Rosa dumps her fork back into her plastic container, seals it up, and then rises.

“Different motivations,” she says, and then leaves.

 

.

.

.

 

Amy's still thinking about what Rosa said when her break finishes. She's still thinking about it all through Holt's briefing. And then the rest of her shift. And even as she's packing up for the night, she's still thinking.

_Different motivations_ , she thinks. What kind of motive? And why is Jake so much better at this than she is?

“Yikes. What's with the face?” Jake stands at the end of her desk, eyebrows raised, bag packed. 

“What's with  _ your _ face?” she retorts.  _ Clever, Santiago. _

“Devastating beauty. Like normal,” says Jake. “Walk you to your car?”

“Is this some scheme for the bet?” Amy asks, suspicious. “I'm not going to walk into an elevator filled with red roses, am I?”

“Nah, Holt wouldn't let me do it. For some weird reason…”

Amy laughs without quite expecting it, and she grabs her bag. “How’s the Pattinson case going?”

“Not well,” Jake admits. “He doesn’t like any of my Twilight jokes.”

“That’s crazy,” Amy agrees. “With a last name like that, you’re practically asking for it.”

“I know, right?” Jake exclaims. He presses the button for the parking lot, and Amy sneaks a glance at him. 

“Stop staring, weirdo,” says Jake, pulling a face at her.

“ _ You're _ the weirdo.” (Another brilliant comeback from Amy Santiago.) “And I'm not staring. You have hot sauce on your tie.” 

“How do you know it's hot sauce?” Jake asks, waggling his eyebrows. Amy is stuck somewhere between rolling her eyes and laughing.

“You had it on your wrap for lunch,” Amy says without even thinking about it. The doors ding open, and they walk out into the darkness of the car park. Amy can make out the white of her car in its usual spot, just like she knows Jake always parks one row and three slots away. 

“Stalker,” he says.

“Observant,” she corrects. 

“Don't be mad,” says Jake, goofily affectionate. “Stalking is a great quality in a detective.” 

This time, Amy really does roll her eyes at him. “ _ Goodbye _ , Jake,” she says pointedly. 

“Catch you later, Ames,” he says.

Amy moves on, and succeeds in not-thinking about their bet for approximately thirty seconds, before she teaches her car. There, in the dust on her back window, is a crudely drawn heart, with the letters  _ J+A _ written in it. 

_ Different motivations _ , Amy thinks again, unlocking her car. Rosa makes no sense. But still. Amy doesn't wipe the message away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> proofreading? i don't know her


End file.
